For There Lies The Blame
by Sunflowers In Moscow
Summary: GerIta / / Germany loses Italy. Now the German runs through blood for the man who thought he needed to prove himself to him, to gain his approval the only way the Italian knew how. The consequences may be staggering. / / There is a rewrite! Please see my profile!
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own APH  
_

He ran through the desolate wasteland blanketed with corpses of royal blue. His ragged breaths seemed to echo from everywhere, his heavy footsteps like deep drumbeats. Dried out twigs and brittle leaves crunched and crumbled beneath his feet, announcing his presence to the dead.

He could hear the distant shouts of the men under his command, asking him to slow and turn around as they weren't sure if the enemy had left yet.

He didn't care.

If Italy was dead, he'd fall on the allies' doorstep with his hands above his head.

It was all his fault anyway.

He reluctantly looked over the empty faces of the long since departed, every unknown face a relief – it wasn't him, _Gott_, it wasn't him. Broken and abandoned, the men lay with their weapons; weapons that might as well have been toys, they did so little good against the strength of the mighty Reich. Forced to combat a side they had been a member of not months ago.

The smell was turning his stomach, the stench of iron – blood – rife in the air, destined to become worse as the day grew older and the heat rose.

He ignored it when he accidentally stood in a puddle – if it could be called that; wasn't muddy water supposed to be brown? Not the colour of _wine_…

The ground crested and he stood on the slight rise, looked around him frantically. Unknown to him, the name of the man he was seeking began to escape his lips.

He picked a random direction – every way looked the same – how could death be so endless? Surely it had to end, it had to – and took off.

He jumped over a ragged piece of something he couldn't let himself think of.

The further he went, the larger the bodies of water containing bodies of fathers, brothers and lovers. Splintered pieces of trees resembled the pieces of other living things littered the land, and as the distance between himself and his men increased, so did his guilt.

Why did that have to be the last thing he said to him? Perhaps his last words to the dear man who he – _loved_, odd how he could only say it _now_ – had to be so cutting and harsh. And they were lies; those horrid words had been the epitome of lies.

He had said he found the other man pathetic – never. Italy was the furthest things from it, so open and in his very own way, brave. He was never and would never (because he was still alive – Germany had to believe that, or he would go mad) be a soldier, but he was a fighter. He could stand up to the man that tried to mould him into a useful ally without as much as a flinch. He could stand up to the nation that others thought to be the embodiment of fear with a smile and a beckon to have some fun. He let Germany believe that there was more to life than pulling a trigger and thrusting a blade. That he could be content doing something other than spilling the blood of his conquests.

He had said that he found him useless – another lie. Only in battle did Italy have no purpose. Italy shouldn't have to fight anyone, let alone the man who he had proclaimed to be his best friend. Germany's heart had ached when Italy had abandoned him, but yet he could find no fault in it. After what the blond had said and done to the small brunet, he deserved whatever bad fortune he was delivered.

He prayed to a God he didn't believe in for a miracle that was unlikely to come.

His religious mutterings of Italy's name slowly grew into synch with the thud of his army boots on the dirt, as his heart grew heavier. His hope began to dwindle, hope he clung to with a metallic grip.

He ran past a tall piece of wood, stripped of leaves, of branches, even of bark. It was a smooth, white pole, a salute to the power of war and a rude reminder of the terror of it, the power and the authority of death.

"Feli, Feli, Feli, Feli…" He finally heard his frightened words, but did nothing to stop it. It kept him from sinking under, from drowning. From forgetting his purpose – the only one he had anymore.

He allowed, in fact, it to get louder, to act as a call, an appeal for any semblance of life remaining in this hell to notify him of its existence so he could hope and plead it was Italy.

He ran past another body, this one face down with a bloody piece of white cloth draped over it. His eyes scanned the horizon, and he stopped abruptly, cupping his mouth, and shouted.

"Feli! Please!"

He waited and waited. Nothing. His gloved hands cupped his face as his sense of location was lost in the vacuum of nothing surrounding him. Even the wind could not be heard. His hands slid down his face until his eyes were visible, tired and glistening.

Suddenly, a sound broke his depression, and he spun, looking for the source. He heard it again, and his heart was filled with a sort of painful longing.

_Let it be, mein Gott, let it be._

He whispered, reverently, fearfully. "Feli?"

A loud sob emanated from nearby, and his sight snapped to the body he had past not seconds ago, and _how could he not have known?_

Before he knew it, he was beside the man whose shoulders were shaking, and breaths coming extremely unsteadily. The orange hair was slightly dulled by dust, but still recognisable; that damn curl springing up in the air even as its owner was dying.

Carefully, he rolled him over – the stained white flag -

(because that's what it was, so obvious, how could he not have noticed! His pity, and his anger, multiplied as he knew the plea for mercy and signal of surrender had been ignored by his own men who proceeded with massacring every living thing, regardless of the circumstances)

- covering like a shroud. Amber eyes that were for once wide open met his own icy blue, and they crinkled in exhausted relief.

"D-Doitsu…" The voice was broken and hoarse, and it was only then that Germany noticed the bloody stain on the front of the smaller man's uniform, as well as the two torn small holes in the stomach area.

His teeth gritted in anger and denial. _No_, he couldn't lose Italy.

"Shh. I'm here Feli. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His voice cracked at the end, the truth of his remorse penetrating his voice.

Italy shook his head, which was now in Germany's hands. "N-No, n-not your fault… mine… stupid…"

"No." Germany shook the head in his grasp very gently to get his point through without hurting him. "You're not stupid, Feliciano. You never were. I just kept trying to make you something you are not. You shouldn't even _be _here…"

"D-Doitsu t-thought I'm pathet-tic, but, I-I'm _n-n-not_, r-right? N-not anym-more. H-had to show D-Doitsu..."

Then, Germany almost wept. Italy had done all this, come into a futile fight to prove him wrong. _Gott_, it really was all his fault. But Italy seemed to be waiting for an answer. He swallowed the lump in his windpipe and answered.

"No, Feli, you're not. You never were!" The last words grew louder, but Italy's forehead – covered in dirt and sweat and blood, the by-products of the present situation – creased.

His voice was quieter, "but Doitsu s-said-"

"I lied! Don't you get it, Feli? I lied to you! You aren't those things, you aren't useless, you aren't pathetic! I never thought you were."

Italy's eyes grew watery. "But, w-why?"

A sigh escaped Germany's mouth, before his forehead lowered to be pressed against the smaller man's. Their noses touched as they breathed, and both revelled in the proximity. Germany cherished, and Italy didn't dare to hope.

With all the softness of a snowflake, Germany's lips brushed the dry ones of his companion. Italy jumped in shock and hissed at the pain that flashed through his abdomen at the movement. Germany moved back in alarm, but Italy bit out a 'no' and his limp cold hand curled around Germany's head before it guided him back down.

Their lips collided once more, this time much less gently. Italy's face heated, but he didn't let go, instead choosing to hold onto Germany with as much strength as he could. The man tasted like beer, but even while Italy wasn't fond of the stuff, on Germany it seemed so right.

As did kissing him, for that matter. It was so much better than he had imagined, and the warmth that spread through his veins at Germany's touch was intoxicating. His injuries were forgotten and the pain swept away in the passion they shared.

For Germany, it was the same. His heartbreak at trying to face the fact Italy could be dead was vanquished by his wounded lover he cradled in his arms, and his relief at not having to hide his love for the brunet any longer.

They would face the consequences of the war – the pain and the death and the loss and the hatred and the vengeance and the revolting essence of corrupted, forgotten life – of being on different sides, of loving each other in the place where love does not reach. Where love is not supposed to reach. They would do all this and more, and in return, their feelings would never wane.

But to reach the destination, the first step had to be taken.

Some bandages had to be obtained and the bullets in Feliciano's body needed to be pulled out before they killed him.

Germany would not lose him again.

* * *

**Hope this is well received - it's based off a fanart on deviantart called 'APH: Soldier Side'. If you really want to feel the angst, I'd highly recommend taking a look, and leaving a comment there. virus-AC74 did a fantastic job.**

**I love Ludwig x Feliciano - definitely one of my OTPs!**

**Reviews very welcome! xx**


	2. Important AN

**Greetings, old friends and new.**

**I am pleased to officially announce there is a rewrite of this fic! Woot!**

**Two hundred words longer, better description, and way less OOC - so much so, I no longer cringe when I read it!**

**Please go there and review/fave, do what you all do best. I really appreciate and NEED any feedback on the new version, and I might leave up this one, for posterity. **

**Hope you all enjoy the revamp, and thank you for reading/reviewing this one!**

**Auf Wiedersehen,**

**Lynn!**


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